


The Way You Fist Ain't Fair You Know

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Endearments, Fisting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: “Ungh… Jaskier…” Geralt most certainly did not whine. But he may have let out an extraordinarily high-pitched moan, his eyes rolling back in his skull as Jaskier presses forward, bending him in half until his knees touch his pecs and he can see his rosy little pucker greedily suck Jaskier’s digits in. Holy fuck --Jaskier licks his lips, “I didn’t know you were so flexible, darling.” Now the excess oil is dribbling down his cock, mingling with the creamy white pearls of pre that’re smeared across his belly.He groans, “...neither did I…”AKAJaskier promises his Witcher one hell of an orgasm if he can stave off until the bard fits his entire fist inside of him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 661
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	The Way You Fist Ain't Fair You Know

“Jas…” All of the air vacates the Witcher’s lungs in a powerful  _ woosh _ as Jaskier’s long, thin fingers tease along the delicate flesh of his taint, excess oil, warmed by their combined body heat, dripping down his hypersensitive flesh to pool on the linen sheets. 

There’s a delightful  _ ache _ between his legs, accentuated by the bright burn in his hamstrings as Jaskier spreads him wide. It should be embarrassing, he thinks, to be laid out like this, a feast for Jaskier’s hungering eyes, but it’s impossible to focus on  _ anything _ long enough to feel embarrassment when Jaskier’s sinful fingers are working their way across his flesh in a featherlight caress that has his inner-thighs trembling. It feels like they’ve been at this for  _ centuries _ ; Jaskier’s talented fingers walking him right up to the brink, his neglected cock twitching with the promise of an impending orgasm, and then, just as the fiery heat in his belly becomes nigh unbearable, the bard’s name on his lips like a prayer…

Geralt pants, peering up at Jaskier through a curtain of sweat- and tear-slick white blond hair. That makes three. Three ruined orgasms in the last hour, and if the wicked little smirk on Jaskier’s face is any indication, the bard is far from done. When he’d told Geralt at the start of the evening that the Witcher wouldn’t be allowed to cum until he could take the bard’s entire fist, he had  _ seriously _ miscalculated the bard’s level of self-control. Because the bard has absolutely  _ zero _ right to look so godsdamned  _ calm _ as he presses phantom kisses to the inside of Geralt’s thighs, sliding three fingers into the Witcher’s heat so  _ torturously _ slowly… He’s enjoying this, enjoying the fact that he can exert such total control over a being strong enough to snap him in half without a second thought.

“You with me, baby?” Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes flicker up to meet a sea of molten gold, “Such a pretty baby. Taking me so well…” the bard purrs, as he allows his eyes to rake down the Witcher’s form, ultimately settling his gaze upon the sweetly-scented oil trickling out around his fingers.

He scissors them wide, licking his lips when more of the clear liquid begins to flow. Fuck, if they didn’t already have plans… he strokes his thumb over one pert ass cheek, streaking oil across the gloriously tanned skin. “A-Another…” Geralt cants his hips, meeting each quick, shallow thrust, “M-More… fuck, Jas -- I’m not made of glass. I c-can…”

“Shh…” Jaskier soothes, brushing his lips over the stubble that dots Geralt’s chin. The pad of his pinkie finger probes his swollen rim, “Breathe with me, sweetling. In…” his eyes widen as he draws in a stuttering breath -- Jaskier’s hands are by no means  _ small _ , and even doused in oil, the sensation is  _ intense _ . “...and out.”

_ “Fuck…” _ the Witcher’s head lolls to the side, a thin stream of drool dribbling from the side of his mouth. Jaskier strokes a hand along the inside of his left leg, murmuring words of praise and adoration as he begins to thrust.

“How’re you feeling, Geralt?” The bard asks, sweeping hair away from his face so that he can have a clear view of the other’s eyes. Geralt struggles to focus on anything other than the pretty little smile on Jaskier’s face and the feel of his calloused fingertips gliding over his prostate. 

“Ungh…  _ Jaskier _ …” Geralt most certainly did not whine. But he  _ may _ have let out an extraordinarily high-pitched moan, his eyes rolling back in his skull as Jaskier presses forward, bending him in half until his knees touch his pecs and he can  _ see _ his rosy little pucker greedily suck Jaskier’s digits in. Holy  _ fuck _ \--

Jaskier licks his lips, “I didn’t know you were so  _ flexible _ , darling.” Now the excess oil is dribbling down his cock, mingling with the creamy white pearls of pre that’re smeared across his belly.

He groans, “...neither did I…” 

The difference between four fingers and the girth of Jaskier’s cock is just enough to be noticeable. It burns in the most delightful of ways, sending little electrical currents of pleasure straight to his weeping cock. He can feel his fourth orgasm building, hot tendrils of pleasure curling low in his belly… the fingers withdraw seconds before he reaches his peak, the bard’s hands gripping his thighs so very tight he’s sure to leave some sort of mark. All manner of flowery endearments flow over his tongue as he watches Geralt pant and writhe and slowly, so very slowly, come back down from his near-high. He blows cool air over sweat-slick skin, delighting in the way that Geralt’s sinewy muscles twitched beneath miles of gloriously tanned flesh…

It feels like an eternity until Jaskier deems him ready to begin again. The bard reaches for the jar of oil on the bedside table, drizzling the sweetly scented liquid over his hand until his pale skin glistens in the candlelight… He teases his fingers over Geralt’s cleft, making delightfully raunchy comments about the way Geralt’s pucker twitches, eager to be full of Jaskier once more. The bard tells him to breathe and he does; he inhales slow and deep until his lungs burn and there’s one… two… three… four… He watches them sink into his depths, soaking in the praise that Jaskier is so happy to lavish upon him…  _ five _ . The widest portion of the bard’s hand dips inside of him with a resounding  _ pop _ , and his fingers curl into a tight fist…

He is…  _ so incredibly full _ . It’s almost too much, and yet… Jas’ hand keeps slipping further and further inside, until he’s in to the wrist, and even with his enhanced healing he knows it’s going to be several days until he can sit in Roach’s saddle without thinking of that stupidly awe-struck look on Jaskier’s face as he fucks him on his fist. He’s so sensitive, he can feel  _ everything _ , from the occasional press of Jaskier’s blunt fingernails against his walls to the individual ridges on his knuckles. Jaskier keeps him like that -- bent double, ass in the air -- as he works his hand in and out, loving the near-incoherent drivel that spills forth from his mouth when the widest part of his hand tugs on his rim, threatening to  _ pop _ back out at any second. 

“So good for me, baby. Such a good little Witcher.” If his arm went any deeper, he’d have a proper bulge… and doesn’t that have the Witcher keening, his fat cock throbbing against his belly, ready,  _ so ready _ , to cum…

“Ngh…  _ fuck _ . ‘M so fucking close, Jas. Please…  _ please _ let me cum.” He claws at the mattress, tearing at the paper-thin linens; he just needs a  _ little bit more _ . Surely, Jaskier couldn’t be so cruel as to leave him high and dry… He’d  _ promised _ that if Geralt could take his fist --

“Think you can cum from just my hand, Geralt?” He asks, sounding genuinely intrigued by the idea. He shifts his knuckles, stretching his hand out inside of Geralt, and the Witcher actually  _ tears a hole in the mattress. _ “F-Fuck… That’s going to cost us a pretty penny, but I can’t even be mad because holy  _ hells _ that was hot…”

“Hard…  _ ngh _ … harder, J-Jas…  _ please _ …” the bard obliges, thrusting that fist into him so hard he starts to  _ writhe _ , his back twisting unnaturally as he tries to get him to hit that  _ one… little… spot _ … “S-So good, Jas…”

“We’re definitely doing this again,” he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “C’mon, baby. I can see it, you’re so close. You wanna cum for me  _ so bad _ , don’t you?” A frenzied nod, “Go on, then. Cum for me, Geralt --,”

The words had scarcely left the bard’s mouth when the Witcher  _ explodes. _ Geralt’s cock  _ throbs _ , unleashing a thick torrent of creamy white semen on his chest and belly. Jaskier continues to fuck him through it, timing each thrust to the pulsing of his cock… until Geralt is weakly swatting at his arms, barely coherent enough to ask him to stop before the stimulation crosses over to the wrong side of painful. Gingerly, he lowers Geralt back down to the bed, the Witcher’s entire body aching in all the right ways as Jaskier carefully frees his dripping wet hand. A gush of oil rushes from his gaping hole… they may have overdone it with the oil, just a little bit. But it’s better to be safe than sorry, and though Geralt is far from a blushing virgin, he doesn’t bottom frequently enough to cut corners.

“So… are you ready to admit that I have good ideas? Or do you need another demonstration?” Jaskier says, dipping his fingers into the pool of semen on Geralt’s chest and taking a quick taste.

“I don’t know.” Geralt says, breathless. He fixes Jaskier with a wide-eyed stare, his pupils still dilated. “I suppose that that depends on what you had in mind, little lark.”

Jaskier grins, playfully nipping along the inside of Geralt’s thigh, dangerously close to his quivering entrance. “How about I call for a bath… and show you?” And just like that, he’s gone, leaving Geralt to collect himself in a puddle of jizz and oil while he sets up a bath so that the fun can continue.

_ The bard is going to be the death of me,  _ he thinks,  _ but I can’t think of a better way to go. _


End file.
